Starship
by Westel
Summary: No longer able to contain his anger, rage at the Kadrahn ruler's insensitivity and rigidity consumed him at last in a pulsar of barelycontained fury.


The starship streaked through hyperspace, her lower hull and slender nacelles leaving delicate, multicolored filaments of ion particles in her wake. Her outward grace and serenity belied the anxiety of the engineer, nursing her engines, pushed to the limit at warp eight, and the determined bent of a captain bound to achieve the unachievable -- again.

**Stardate 5925.1. **_**Enterprise**_** en route to planet Kadrahn to search for cordicillium, a streptomycin-fungi found on decaying fruit in the rain forests there. Dr. McCoy hopes to develop a vaccine for a meningeal disease infecting Federation planets and colonies in epidemic proportions which, despite standard medical precautions, is spreading unabated. Thousands have died from this sickness, all within a very short time after diagnosis. Several of my crew are showing early symptoms of the disease. The only course open to us is to find the cure as soon as possible. We estimate landfall in one point three days.**

Kirk closed his log entry and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. "Thirty-two hours could be too late for those people in sickbay, Spock."

Spock did not answer immediately - he didn't need to, as the captain often thought aloud to his friend. He walked over to the command chair and stood looking at the warping starfield Kirk seemed to find so interesting on the viewscreen.

"You think McCoy will find the fungus, Spock?"

"High probability, Captain. However, there is no guarantee the cordicillium will affect the disease. The odds against the vaccine killing this particular strain is one hundred twenty-five point two to one."

Kirk frowned and slouched in the chair. "Not very good odds, I agree. But it's all we've got, Spock. Plus there are four other starships in other sectors, all searching for vaccines. That reduces the odds somewhat." Despite his positive words, Kirk didn't sound very hopeful.

Spock had the grace not to quote new odds. "Quite true." He stepped forward, moving into Jim's peripheral vision a bit more. "Captain… " Kirk looked at him, dragging his eyes from the viewscreen.

"Yes, Spock?"

"If I may be so bold, you have been on the bridge sixteen hours. I submit you will better fit for negotiating with the Kadrahns if you get some rest."

"Seems to me you've been here even longer, Spock." Kirk smiled at the first officer. Spock failed to see the logic of the comparison. The captain was a human, after all, and naturally required more sleep than a Vulcan - even a half-Vulcan. There was no need to remind the captain of that, but Spock was prepared to do so. He took a step nearer the captain.

Jim sighed and held up a hand. "All right, Spock, I'm going. You know where to reach me," he called over his shoulder as he entered the lift. The doors closed on the first officer just assuming the vacated seat. Kirk leaned against the lift wall, rubbing his head and neck. _Better pester Bones for a pill_, he thought. Bones could probably stand a change of pace, anyway. The doctor had been putting in his own overtime the last few days, doing preliminary research in preparation for synthesization of the vaccine. And now, as if he didn't have enough to do, McCoy had twenty patients in sickbay to worry about. _At least he can't complain about not having enough blood samples_. Kirk smiled grimly at the vision of a mad-scientist McCoy hovering over his patients, waiting to take blood… Kirk felt chilled suddenly, and the vision was no longer amusing. He straightened his gold tunic and strode to sickbay, the opening doors barely accommodating him as he left the lift.

McCoy sat at the computer console, surrounded by tapes, papers and assorted junk, glaring vehemently at the screen. He started when Kirk spoke his name, turned his glare onto the captain, then relaxed into a self-deprecatory smile.

"Jim! I didn't hear you come in. I'm kind of busy here… "

"I'd say buried is more like it," Jim commiserated. "You honestly making heads or tails out of all that?" He sat down across from the doctor and massaged his temples.

"I'm muddlin' my way through. I"ll be ready when it's time to transport down to _Kadrahn_."

Jim glanced toward the room where the sick lay. "How are they doing?"

"Holding their own. I'm treating the symptoms -- until I can isolate the bacteria, there's not much I can do."

"And even when you isolate it you're not sure the cordicillium will kill it."

"No." The CMO sighed. "I'm not sure of anything right now." McCoy left his desk to pace out his agitation.

"Can I see them?"

"No, Jim, I can't risk it. We don't know how it's transmitted, and they're in isolation. God only knows how many others they've given it to. In the close quarters of a ship like this… " His voice trailed off as he gazed toward the isolation room. He eyed Kirk critically as Jim moved to his side. "Another headache, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Not bad. It's just that I need a good night's sleep. The Kadrahns are not easy to deal with on a good day… "

"I heard. You'll be needing all that ready charm of yours, naturally. I think I have something in my little black bag to send you to never-never land."

"Thanks." Kirk took the pills from McCoy's hand and took them dry.

McCoy made a face. "I never could do that -- makes me gag."

"Believe me, it takes practice." Jim lay his hand on the McCoy's shoulder, smiling his thanks, and turned to go.

The doctor's voice stopped him. "Jim... "

Kirk turned back, standing in the open doorway.

"If your headache worsens, if the stiffness in your neck increases… "

"Who said anything about stiffness?" Jim asked, innocently.

"You didn't have to. I'm a doctor, remember? I won't even try talking you into having a physical right now, but if these problems persist or increase, you see me or M'Benga right away, understand?"

"All right, Bones. I'll worry about me. You worry about getting ready for beamdown. And get some sleep somewhere in there. You look about as tired as I feel."

"Aye-aye, Doctor!" saluted McCoy and waved him away.

Kirk turned on his heel and left. McCoy's smile faded as he went back to the console and put in another tape.

- - -

The pills did the trick. Kirk slept hard, waking up in the same position he went to sleep, the bedclothes hardly rumpled. He woke to the sound of a signal at his cabin door. Glancing at the chronometer, he realized with a shock that he was late -- they would be arriving at _Kadrahn_ in less than fifteen hours and he had slept the morning away, never hearing the wake-up call.

"Come," he called as he got up. Spock came in and grabbed the captain's arm as he swayed dizzily.

"Sit down, Jim." He lowered Kirk into a chair.

"It's those sleeping pills McCoy gave me -- never liked taking those things. You know I didn't even hear the wakeup call this morning?" He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that crowded his mind.

"I cancelled the wakeup call, Jim. You still have fifteen hours to prepare." Kirk shot him a look, but Spock maintained his look of innocence. "McCoy said you needed to rest."

"Worried about me, Spock?" Jim grinned and got up slowly, finding his sea-legs.

"Worried? Indeed, such emotion is alien to Vulcans. However, it is logical that a starship captain require a certain amount of rest in order to maintain the efficient function of the ship… "

"Yes, Spock, I know. Thanks for your concern." In a rare gesture, Kirk lightly punched Spock on the shoulder and headed toward the shower. "I'll be up in fifteen minutes."

"Very well, Captain. Meanwhile, I shall go to my quarters for rest and meditation. Mr. Sulu has taken over in my absence."

Kirk wheeled in mid-stride and came back into the room. "Spock, do you mean to tell me you've been on the bridge ever since I went off duty last night?"

"I did not _mean_ to tell you anything of the sort, Captain. But since you have surmised it yourself it would be illogical to deny it… "

"Spock!" The Vulcan halted, eyebrows disappearing under ebony bangs. He placed his hands behind his back.

Jim blew out his breath in frustration and raised his hands in supplication to his friend. "Will you please go get some sleep?!"

"I believe I already said I would, Captain." Jim, outdone, turned back to the shower as the cabin door closed on the first officer.

- - -

**Stardate 5926.6. We are in orbit around Kadrahn, an old Earth colony dating back to the days of our first interstellar colonizations. The Kadrahns are a reclusive people, members of a ruling religious community, forbidden to fraternize with outworlders or even other minority groups inhabiting the planet who don't share their religious views. We can make voice contact only -- visual communication is forbidden except under circumstances of their own choosing. I am concerned about their willingness to allow an outworlder to set foot in their holy city. At all costs, we must not offend them and risk losing access to the cordicillium we so desperately need. **

Kirk punched in his log entry with a shaking hand. He had tried with small success during the long shift to ignore the pain in his head and neck, and worse, the waves of nausea accompanying it. Not for the first time, he was thankful Spock was not on the bridge -- he could never have concealed his discomfort from him. Spock would have summarily told McCoy that the captain was under the weather, and the timing was rotten to have the good doctor hanging over his shoulder, mother-henning him. Moreover, the _Kadrahn_ mission was too important, too delicate to turn it over to anyone else. Kirk took a deep breath. _Pride? _Maybe_. Duty? _Certainly.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lt. Uhura. "Captain, I have Ruler Temaias on channel two, voice comm only," she announced, adjusting her console for clarity, her hands moving rapidly over the panel.

Kirk steeled himself, drawing a long breath, ignoring a new wave of vertigo. "Put him on, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Sir."

The following half hour was agonizing. No reasonable request, no plea for mercy in view of the medical emergency -- in short, _nothing_ would move the Ruler from his position. Somehow, Kirk managed to control his temper, though he felt he would explode if that pompous ass gave him one more of his self-righteous excuses. It would be very easy to hate the man, though Kirk usually kept his personal feelings under control in diplomatic negotiations. Perhaps his emotions weren't fully mastered today as he paced the bridge in his urgency, his fists clenched. Finally he turned and, grabbing the rail in front of the star-filled viewscreen, he played his last card.

"Ruler Temaias, I beg you to reconsider. Surely… " Unconsciously, he held out a hand in supplication. "Surely your God would allow you to make this one concession if it meant saving countless souls throughout the galaxy."

"Our God is a jealous one, Captain. We would not incur His wrath by breaking His laws. There will be no landfall allowed until the Purification Rites are completed, eight days from now. It is pointless for me to continue to listen to this tirade. Our conversation is ended."

As the transmission ended, Kirk's hazel eyes narrowed to slits. No longer able to contain his anger, rage at the Kadrahn ruler's insensitivity and rigidity consumed him at last in a pulsar of barely-contained fury. And with it came a sudden exhaustion that made him feel weak in the knees. He shut his eyes for a moment, fighting for control. A stronger, blacker wave of vertigo hit him and he staggered toward the con, waving off Chekov's offered assistance. Dropping into the chair, he wiped the sweat from his face. His hands were shaking again, and he gripped the arms of the chair to stop their trembling. _God, he hated this!_

"Uhura."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Better… better wake Spock." Kirk's voice was shaking. "I'm going to need him… up here." As Uhura attended to the order, Kirk turned to the helmsman. "Mr. Sulu, I'm going to sickbay. Take over… until Mr. Spock arrives, please." Kirk tried to rise and failed. He took a breath and slid to the edge of the seat, motioning to Chekov to help him. The young Russian came to his side quickly and helped him to stand. Kirk leaned heavily on him as they walked to the lift doors and Chekov took a stronger grip, his expressive brown eyes betraying the alarm he felt. When the navigator and the captain were gone, Sulu and Uhura exchanged long looks.

"How long before this disease -- you know… " Sulu couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Dr. McCoy said the patient usually succumbed within thirty-six to seventy-two hours after exhibiting the first symptoms." Uhura kept her voice steady.

"Succumbed?" Sulu was shaking his head, not wanting to hear this.

"Died, Sulu. Died." Uhura hated her own harsh words, hated the look on Sulu's face as he accepted what he had already known. He turned back to his panel and she to hers, each seeing the fear in the other's eyes.

- - -

"Do you know what you're doing, Doctor," asked the engineer, his concern deepening his Scottish burr, "beamin' down alone like this?"

"Yes, Scotty. It's crazy and I'm probably a fool for doing it, but what else can I do, now that I've isolated the bacteria? Cordicillium is a good bet - maybe our best bet now. I've got to have the fungus before I can synthesize the vaccine, and I'm sure not going to get it sitting up here watching people die!" McCoy gripped the transporter console, anger and pain narrowing his blue eyes. _Crazy disease!_ Like the Terran smallpox of old, an ancient strain long thought extinct had somehow shown up again, finding the entire Federation medical division bereft of any way to treat it. Three crewmen had died during the night despite everything he and the medical staff could do for them. Once they slipped into a coma, it happened quickly. _At least they weren't suffering in the end_, he tried to console himself.

It didn't work.

McCoy hated losing any patient; somehow he just couldn't bring himself to give up on life as long as there _was_ life. He supposed that was somewhat old-fashioned, but… He suddenly realized Scotty had been talking to him and he hadn't heard a word.

"I said, are you all right? You're pale as a ghost." Scotty's eyes registered concern; McCoy answered with a reassuring smile.

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm worried, that's all. Ten more cases, and one of them Jim. I'll feel much better once I'm back with the samples." Scotty nodded, squeezed the doctor's arm, and moved over to the console.

"Are you ready to transport me down?" asked the doctor.

"Aye, I've just received the coordinates from Chekov. We're going to drop you into the forest well outside the city and snatch you back out again as soon as you get the samples."

"It may prove somewhat more complicated than that, Mr. Scott," the voice of Mr. Spock came from the doorway. The engineer looked a question at McCoy, then understanding dawned on his face.

"Oh, so that's the meaning of the biocomputer and lab equipment. I was wondering what you were going to do with all that in a jungle!"

"Too many missions have been near-disasters because of what was left behind on the ship, Scotty. I'd rather have it and not need it than... "

"You must beam down immediately, Doctor. The Rulers are threatening to activate the force field. They are due to communicate in the next five minutes, and when they discover that I have temporarily replaced the captain they may decide we have given them just cause to follow through with their threat."

Resolve hardened McCoy's face as he stepped up onto the transporter. "Let's get on with it, then," he barked. The transporter whined, sparkled, and slipped him from the dry, grey room into a moist, green world, pulsating with a cacophony of bird calls, primate screams, and who knew what else rustling among the undergrowth. He lost his balance as he materialized and sat down heavily on the jungle floor. He smiled grimly as he picked himself up and wiped the dirt off the seat of his pants, glad that Spock wasn't there to see his predicament. McCoy winced as the muscles in his neck protested against the disease that affected them. His head was pounding. He played the scanner over himself and found what he expected: elevated temperature, increased white blood count, and increased intercranial pressure. The facts only served to aggravate his symptoms: increasing lethargy and irritability. _Classic_. He gave himself a hypo and began scouring the forest undergrowth, using his tricorder to locate fruit trees.

- - -

"Ruler Temaias, I _am_ in command of this ship." Only the dry tone of Spock's voice betrayed his irritation with the authoritarian. "May I remind you that you are in direct violation of Federation law by preventing Starfleet personnel from obtaining a substance needed in a medical emergency."

"May I remind _you_, Captain Spock, that we serve a higher law," said the thin, haughty voice of the ruler. He snorted with disdain. "Of course, I would not expect you to know what it's like to serve the Creator, never having had the privilege… "

Spock cut him off. "It's _Commander_, Ruler Temaias," he said, ignoring the insult. "There is only one captain aboard this ship."

"Who has disdained to speak with me, Commander. I insist I communicate with someone who befits my stature and position of authority."

"I regret there is no one aboard this vessel who meets those requirements." Uhura smiled at the hidden meaning in Spock's words. "The captain is unable to speak with you. He is gravely ill, stricken with the very disease your planet's fungi holds promise of curing."

"He has no doubt brought the curse of the plague upon himself, Commander. _I_ cannot be held accountable for _his_ sins. I will discuss your request with the Council of Rulers; however, I should tell you now there is little hope any of you will be allowed to transport to our planet before Purification is complete. I will contact you in six hours. Meanwhile, we will activate our force field. Transmission is terminated."

Static replaced the Ruler's voice before Uhura shut it off. Spock stood by the empty command chair, his face expressionless, his eyes unreadable, clenching a writing stylus in his hand so tightly that it bent into the contours of his gripped fingers. In the silence following the communication, members of the crew stole looks at the Vulcan as he stood, unmoving. When the science officer quietly spoke Sulu's name, he almost jumped in his seat. "Mr. Sulu, I shall be in sickbay. Please notify me immediately if there are any more communications."

"Aye, Sir," Sulu replied, and went back to work. Everyone seemed busy at their posts, but Spock was acutely aware of the several pairs of eyes following him as he walked off the bridge.

In the turbolift alone, Spock's face was wrenched with the conflict going on within him. Humiliated at his emotional reaction to Temaias' words, Spock fought to thrust down his human half which stubbornly refused to be daunted, clamored now to be recognized. Jim Kirk had been cut down verbally in the presence of the crew and he had not defended him! Spock squared his shoulders, telling himself that the words of a hyperemotional pontifex could not damage the captain, nor alter the universe. But if the words truly had no meaning, why did he feel like he'd been slapped in the face when he remembered them? As the lift doors opened he looked down at the mangled stylus still clenched in his hand. Spock threw it into a disposal chute and entered the overflowing sick bay, a veil of cool deliberation pulled over his features.

He was met in a newly constructed sterile room by an aide, who presented him with scrubs, gloves and a mask. Spock knew that at this point it was probably useless against spreading infection, but he would follow procedure. Leaving the sterile room, he walked past the biobeds, acknowledging the greetings of those who were able to speak, noting those who could not. There were many. Nurse Chapel, busy with one of them, jerked her head toward a closed door. He went in, the door closing behind him. Jim lay in the nearest bed, sharing the small room with two other patients who occasionally moaned or cried out in delirium, their thrashing restrained by straps which held them to the beds. Kirk was awake, his eyes dulled by pain and medication. He smiled at the Vulcan and motioned him over.

"Spock, you're a… a sight for sore eyes." Spock noted the hesitancy in Kirk's speech, the difficulty in focusing. The intercranial pressure around the captain's brain was growing, and it was only a matter of time before he went into coma…

"How are you feeling, Jim?"

Kirk shrugged, then grimaced with the pain the motion caused in his neck and shoulders. "Oh." He looked over at the two other patients, who were quiet for the moment, then back at Spock. "You know."

Spock was appalled at the deterioration that had taken place in his friend so quickly. Just three hours ago Jim had been on the bridge, trying to reason with Temaias, and now he was lying there so weak he could hardly talk.

Kirk was watching his friend, recognizing the look in the Vulcan's eyes. The last time he had looked like that was when McCoy lay dying at the hands of the Vians. Sensing the battle going on in his friend, he drew himself up. "Report, Spock," he ordered, assuming what he hoped was a look of authority.

Jim's efforts did not go unnoticed as, back on safer ground for the moment, Spock recounted his conversation with the Kadrahn ruler, tactfully leaving out the latter's attack on the ship's captain.

Kirk frowned. "I couldn't expect… any less from that overblown… self-important… " He stopped, a small groan escaping him.

Spock reached out, and in a rare display of concern, touched Jim's shoulder. "Save your breath, Jim. Dr. McCoy may be delayed now that the force field is in place. You must conserve your strength, expend as little energy as possible… "

Kirk glanced at the unconscious crewmen, then looked back at Spock. His voice was a near-whisper: "Before I become like them?" he asked.

Spock, for once, was at a loss for words.

- - -

The communicator beeped, startling McCoy awake. Alarmed and embarrassed that he had fallen asleep, he answered rather gruffly. "McCoy."

"Spock here, Doctor. You failed to check in."

"I know, I know." McCoy squinted in the brightness of the portable lighting equipment. "Something you want?" There was a distinct pause on the other end.

"Dr. McCoy, your temperament is up to its usual form. I was merely checking on your progress in the… "

"Yeah, okay, enough already. So I'm a little late. You would be too if you tried to conduct research in a crawling laboratory!"

"Have you had any success with the vaccine, Doctor?"

"Well, I found the fungus easily enough. I'm having some difficulty with the synthesizing process, but… " Nausea choked off his words. "However," he continued with effort, I should have the bugs worked out in a few more hours."

"Doctor, if the insect population is creating problems in the process perhaps you should avail yourself of the insecticide provided in your gear."

McCoy grinned in spite of himself. "Remind me to talk to you about that sense of humor of yours some day, Spock."

"Humor, Doctor?"

"Humor, Spock, as in _the lack of_. How are things in sickbay?" He hated to ask - he had to ask.

"Four more dead. Seven new cases reported this morning after you left."

McCoy suddenly felt closed in. "And Jim? How is he?"

"He is doing no better, no worse than expected, Doctor. He is still conscious and has asked after you."

"Me?" McCoy felt a twinge of guilt. Jim had been asleep when he left the ship in such a hurry and he hadn't spoken to him since the preliminary exam when Chekov had brought him into sickbay. Now the odds were good he'd never get the chance to speak to him again.

"Yes, indeed. He wants to know when you are going to stop playing doctor and let yourself be the patient for awhile."

"He said _what_? How does he know… Spock! You told him!"

"I could not tell a lie, Doctor, as I was asked a direct question by my commanding officer. You and the captain did an excellent job of hiding your affliction from the rest of the crew, but as I am gifted with an acute sense of discernment it was impossible for you to conceal your ailment from me."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I should have known." He glanced around warily, the forest's night sounds making him jumpy. "Spock, any chance of getting me out of here?"

"We shall, as the captain would say, _give it our best shot_. Until our next communication, Spock out." McCoy stared at the open communicator for a few seconds before closing it and putting it away. Feeling a little lightheaded, he walked toward the makeshift lab to give himself another hypo. The dizziness grew markedly worse and his vision tunneled. _What a great sense of timing, McCoy_, he thought, as he crumpled to the jungle floor.

- - -

He felt cool hands upon him -- wet cloths on his face -- voices murmuring. There was a sharp, sudden pain in his arm, then his senses faded out again. Light and shadow played dancing patterns on his eyelids -- bright and grey sparkles and blackness. Always there were the cool hands. Resting on his forehead, touching his eyes.

When he awoke she sat near his bed, watching him. He looked around the room -- small, unassuming, a little rustic, then back at her. She was like her surroundings, unpretentious and petite, dressed sensibly in a shirt and pants. She smiled at him, and her pale features lit up.

"Welcome back. I have to say I had my doubts about you for awhile, but you're coming around nicely." She helped him to sit up.

McCoy stared at the bandage on his forearm. She took his arm in her two hands and examined the bandage, handling him carefully. "You'll have to forgive our crude methods. We had to medicate you -- you were very sick." McCoy looked at her intently.

"When did you find me? How long have I been unconscious?"

"Not long. We found you late last night near your rather unique laboratory, and it's morning now."

"The whole night gone. Look, Miss, uh… "

"Alahn. Accent on the second syllable, but I answer to most anything." She mustered a small grin.

"Look, Alahn, I'm very grateful to you for helping me, but I'm responsible for a great many people who have the same disease, and I've got to get back to the lab."

"But you've only just regained consciousness. You need to rest first, ah… Mister… "

"McCoy," he answered, foregoing the formality of 'doctor.' "I take it you're responsible for curing me?"

"We were merely here when you needed us, McCoy. All credit goes to the Creator. He's the one who grew the fungus. We just modified it into the medicine."

McCoy's smile turned into a smirk. _Oh Lord, I'm dealing with one of those fanatics._ "Whatever you say. Look I could use some help. I'm waiting for a quick ride out of here but I've got to make other plans just in case. I'd also like to know more about the medicine you used on me -- that's fast-acting stuff. Cordicillium, isn't it?"

Alahn looked at him a moment. "We don't call it that, McCoy, but I'm sure it's what you're looking for - it cured you. We have used this medicine for generations when the disease crops up."

McCoy wondered if he had offended her with his offhand response to her reference to the Creator. He reminded himself that he was probably going to need all the friends he could get and turned on the southern charm.

"Miss Alahn, will you show me how to get back to my lab? I need to get back to work as soon as I can. And could I have a sample of the medicine you used? It should really speed up the synthesization process."

A smiled played over her features, deepening the color of her clear green eyes. "You act as if you expect me to say no. Of course I'll do what I can to help you; just let me take leave of some people, first." She stood to leave, then spotted something on a nearby table. "Oh, I think this is yours. It was on the jungle floor beside you when we picked you up. It's been giving out a signal of some kind, but we left it alone." She handed him his communicator.

"Wise choice, although I'll bet it's driving a certain Vulcan to distraction," he quirked. She returned his smile and walked out of the room, giving him privacy as he contacted the ship.

It was an unhappy McCoy who closed his communicator some minutes later. No more deaths on the _Enterprise_, but several of the patients had gone into coma. Spock was cooking up some harebrained scheme with Scotty to force the Kadrahns to open the force field. Starfleet had given orders to do whatever was necessary, short of genocide, to obtain the vaccine, providing the captain had any indication that the cordicillium might be the cure they needed so urgently. Acting on Jim's behalf, Spock was determined to follow those orders to the letter, the doctor being living proof of the vaccine's effectiveness. McCoy's instructions were to finish synthesizing the cordicillium, then travel the twelve kilometers through rain forest to Melas, the Kadrahn holy city. It was there Spock intended to play out his hand.

_Whatever that is_, McCoy thought, darkly.

- - -

The small shuttlecraft maneuvered awkwardly as Mr. Scott piloted her from the hanger deck. Once free of her moorings, however, she flew smoothly toward the green and white planet below.

"I don't like it, Mr. Spock. If we can't get those people to lower the force shield, we'll be smashed into so much rubble!"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Scott. The Kadrahns are in no position to risk further infraction of Federation law, particularly the premeditated murder of two Starfleet officers."

Scotty shook his head, his face openly showing his apprehension and disapproval. "They don't seem to mind the imminent death of one James Kirk."

Spock looked at him sharply. "Standing by and doing nothing while someone dies is an entirely different matter than deliberately causing the destruction of this shuttlecraft, Commander." _Doing nothing_. That seemed to have been the order of the day. Since his overdue communication with McCoy that morning, Spock had waited patiently for Starfleet to decide on the next course of action. Then he had to wait for Temaias to confer with the Council concerning Starfleet's request that they lower the force field to facilitate the retrieval of the doctor. The Council's subsequent (but not unexpected) outrage at the news of an unwelcome guest not only won Spock a belligerent refusal, but a promise to locate and punish the wayward physician to the fullest extent of their law - Federation be hanged. With the doctor's life obviously in jeopardy, waiting was no longer an option. "The Council may threaten all they like," Spock continued, "but they know the consequences of destroying Starfleet property and murdering two of its officers. They will allow us to rescue the good doctor."

"Aye, Mr. Spock," signed the chief engineer, "I suppose that is logical. But whether or not we pick up a _live_ doctor is what worries me." He viewed his instruments. "Coming up on the force field in point six-five minutes. Have they lowered it yet, Sir?"

The Vulcan's face was a mask of calm. "Not yet, Mr. Scott. Chronometer reading, please, in seconds until contact with the force field."

"Aye, Sir." Scotty began the countdown, his fingers gripping the console tighter with every passing second. "Ten, nine, eight… " He shot a quick glance at the first officer, sweat dripping into his eyes. "…seven, six, five… "

Spock folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

"… four, three, two…" Scott's eyes widened as he imagined a giant hand reaching out to crush the tiny craft. " … one - zero."

The shuttlecraft hummed and droned as she moved on course unhindered. There was a long moment when only the sounds of her instruments broke the silence. Scotty let go the console and wiped his eyes. "On heading for Melas, Mr. Spock. We'll land in five minutes." _Out of the frying pan and into the fire_, he thought, not realizing that he had muttered it half aloud.

Mr. Spock turned in his chair, crossing his arms and cocking his head. "An interesting metaphor, Mr. Scott, and perhaps more accurate than you or I have yet to realize. Conceal your phaser, Commander, set on heavy stun. I am in grave doubt that diplomacy will have any advantage on Kadrahn."

"Humph! And just how much advantage will two phasers have over hundreds of wild-eyed zealots calling down the very wrath of God on our heads?"

"Sufficient unto the day, Mr. Scott," replied the first officer, as the small craft came in over the twinkling lights of Melas.

- - -

"McCoy, you have been avoiding me."

Only the doctor's eyes could be seen scowling at her over the equipment. "I've been busy, ma'am," was the crusty reply before his head disappeared behind the paraphernalia again. He was feeling rather uncomfortable with his new assistant. Alahn had surprised him with her medical abilities as they worked together during the long morning hours to complete the synthesis. He was also taken aback by her own silence on the subject of her beliefs. McCoy had heard all the horror stories of the Kadrahns -- their rigidity, cold-heartedness and insufferable condescending attitude toward others -- but she had exhibited none of these characteristics. Frankly, he didn't know how to treat her. The silence, though strained, was better than some fanatical tirade, and who knew what might set her off. If that were to happen, he wouldn't be responsible for what he might say to her, not being known for keeping his thoughts to himself.

She came around the table, her arms full of boxed equipment, and stood next to him, making him look at her. "If I didn't know you were a Terran, I'd swear you were one of the Rulers."

_That tears it!_ McCoy jerked upright, his face stone and his eyes ice. "Just what do you mean by that?"

She did not flinch from the doctor's chilling fury. "You heard me. You are cool, you are indifferent, and you are unfriendly. I find your behavior distasteful and arrogant -- much like the Rulers in Melas. I had never considered the fact that hypocrites exist elsewhere than on Kadrahn."

"Why you little -- who are you calling…!" McCoy fairly sputtered. "You find _my_ behavior arrogant? I suppose you're going to stand there and deny that you consider me and those like me unworthy of notice unless it suits your purpose!"

The little woman set down her burden and faced him squarely, hands on hips, her jaw jutting defiantly. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and turned away. She leaned against the table, shoulders slumping. "I _do_ deny it."

Something in her quiet answer, on the heels of their mutual outburst, mollified the doctor. She looked very vulnerable just then and he began to feel a little foolish. He moved around to face her and was surprised to find her smiling, mischief playing around her green eyes. Confusion and irritation traded places in the doctor's features, his frown deepening as she laughed aloud. Her jubilance was catching, however, and his frown creased into a slow smile. He had to admit it, this girl had the advantage - had always had it, since he first woke up in the settlement.

Alahn's laughter trickled off, and she moved closer. Placing a hand gently on his arm, she said, "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression. There's no reason why you shouldn't assume everyone on _Kadrahn_ is like the Rulers of Melas. Let me assure you that we are most definitely _not_." She let her hand drop, and looked away. "They would disdain to be associated with the likes of me, that's for sure."

McCoy's smile widened. "I thought the Rulers disdained association with _anyone_ who wasn't in the upper echelons of the Ruling Class."

"Precisely, Doctor McCoy, which is why we live out here in these somewhat primitive conditions. It may not be ideal, but it does have its merits."

"Such as?" McCoy asked, curious how Alahn had confidently derived that he was a physician.

She began to pick up equipment again. McCoy followed behind, holding the box as she placed items into it. "Such as avoiding ridicule, derision… persecution." As she gazed toward the woods McCoy felt her passion, and something else… Setting the box down, he took hold of her shoulders and tried to read what was in her expressive eyes, now clouded with some thought which obviously brought her pain.

"What exactly do you mean by persecution, Alahn?"

She shrugged and smiled wryly at him. "The usual, run of the mill kind, Doctor. Beatings, public mockery, confiscation of property, banishment… death."

McCoy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Now, wait a minute, young lady! Kadrahn may be a little reclusive, but it's a member of the Federation and subject to its interstellar and interplanetary laws! Are you saying they are putting people to death if they don't believe in this Creator of theirs?"

She felt his hands tremble on her shoulders -- gentle hands, a healer's hands, and she realized she liked having him touch her, to her immediate embarrassment. Alahn pulled away and pretended to concern herself with packing so as to hide her flushed features. It took a moment to regain her composure before she could answer. "No, Doctor McCoy, they don't kill people for not believing. Unbelievers are considered to be infidels, not worthy of notice. It's the blasphemer they put to death."

"Blasphemer?"

"One who worships the Creator in his or her own way, without all the rules and regulations of the Melas Ruling Council."

This sounded a little doctrinal for the doctor, but he was too interested in Alahn's story to interrupt her just yet. They completed the packing and camouflaged it with undergrowth before she spoke again.

"Melas is that way, Doctor," she said, pointing the way. "I'd like to go with you."

"Alahn, I don't know how you figured that out, but I'd appreciate it if you'd stop calling me doctor. It's Leonard, or Len."

"Leonard," she said, savoring the sound of it. "I never liked nicknames; they seem to subtract something from the person. You haven't answered my question, Leonard. I've come this far with you. May I accompany you to Melas?"

McCoy set a transponder among the equipment so that, provided the force field were lowered, it could be located and beamed up later. The vials of the precious antibiotic, in a protective case, were in his medkit. The synthesization notes were in his head as well as in his tricorder, which could be broken or taken from him. "Just answer one question first, Alahn. You told me what a blasphemer is, but just _who_ is a blasphemer? You?"

She broke off a fern branch and proceeded to tear off its leaves, one by one. "Yes, and the people in my settlement… and others."

"Well, then, if you go to Melas with me, they could take you. They could _kill_ you, Alahn! I wouldn't want that -- I can't allow that!"

Alahn was surprised to see that the physician was visibly moved, even fighting for control. He had mentioned others on the ship who were very ill. Was he close to any of them? Was he still tired after his illness and long hours in the lab? On impulse, she hooked her arm through his and gave him a sparkling, green-eyed smile that would have melted icebergs if there were any icebergs on Kadrahn"Well, Leonard, I _am_ going to Melas anyway, and I would much rather be escorted by a Terran gentleman than face the forest-mice alone."

Forcing the frown from his face, McCoy pulled her arm further through his, anchoring it with his other hand. "I would be honored to accompany you, ma'am, not being totally ignorant on the subject of chivalry." At her questioning look, he began to tell her of a little adventure he had once with a knight in shining armor on an unnamed planet in the Omicron Delta sector. The woods swallowed up the storyteller and his captive audience as they made their way toward Melas.

- - -

Dr. M'Benga stretched and indulged himself in a long, hard yawn. Why shouldn't he - no one was paying attention anyway. The medical staff was exhausted, having pulled long shifts, extra shifts, volunteer shifts until no one knew whether they were officially on duty or not. It didn't matter. New patients were coming in hourly and the VIP quarters had been converted into temporary emergency facilities. Only the most severe cases were in the sickbay proper, they being the ones who required closest monitoring. Over seventy-five people were stricken with the malady; seventeen were in coma, and the chief medical officer was stranded on the planet below.

M'Benga was a brilliant diagnostician, a veteran of Starfleet and familiar with seat of the pants medicine - fully capable of handling a medical emergency - but the quick toll this disease took on its victims was eating at his usual calm. He would have welcomed having Dr. McCoy at his side. He looked up as Christine Chapel emerged from the little back room, fatigue drawing lines in her lovely face. M'Benga met her at the overworked drink dispenser and keyed in two strong, black coffees. They both drank thankfully of the hot drink.

He looked at her over the rim of his cup. "How is he, Christine? I haven't had the opportunity to look in on him these last few hours."

Christine sighed and stared into her cup, not wanting to acknowledge the steady decline of her commanding officer. She had been watching him closely as he drifted in and out consciousness, fighting to the last. But this was no tangible enemy he could face head-on. This was no challenge of intellect, of his sense of fairness, no obstacle to be circumvented or overcome. Kirk's fine mind and will were set aside, helpless to stop the physical onslaught of a deadly disease. Still, being who he was, he fought. So far, he was the only patient who hadn't clipped into coma at this stage of the illness. However, time was running out, his lucid moments becoming further apart, his delirium increasing. She spoke none of this M'Benga but he could read it in her eyes.

They both jumped when the alarm on the captain's biobed sounded, alerting that he was in distress. They ran to the room to join the aide who was just turning off the alarm. While Chapel looked on dazedly, M'Benga studied the readouts and gave quick instructions to the aide. Kirk lay still, breathing slow and shallow, his skin paling to an unnatural white. The aide assisted the doctor in adjusting Kirk's medication and life-support. Doctor and nurse waited a moment, listening to the monitor's sounds. M'Benga touched Christine on the arm. _She looks worn out_, he thought. "Why don't you get some rest? There's nothing more we can do for him now."

Christine smiled at the doctor. "All right, in just a minute. I'll stay just long enough to make sure he's stabilized." M'Benga smiled acquiescence and left. She stood watching Kirk for a moment, then did something she had never done before. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she picked up his hand and held it between both of hers, chafing it to restore some warmth to the fingers. _Nothing more I can do for a man in a coma_, she thought. _Nothing more I can do except pray._

- - -

The shuttlecraft settled itself on the flagstones of the brightly lit courtyard as Scotty looked out onto a gathering crowd. The expressions on their faces ran the gamut of curiosity to outright hostility. The Scotsman would have preferred to be anywhere else just then.

He hit the switch to open the side hatch and, since Mr. Spock was collecting his tricorder, he stepped out first. Immediately a short, squat man in voluminous robes pranced out to meet him, obviously lost in his own self-importance. Before Scott could move or speak the little man pounced.

"I am Domaius, Sub-Ruler of Melas. You are in violation of our laws and customs, infidel! You sully the purity of our holy fesitval!"

"Well, I'm sure I dinna know what you mean," said the chief engineer, unruffled. The sight of this little man puffed out like some barnyard bird did much to allay his apprehension. "Mr. Spock and I have come to collect something of ours, is all, and we'll be leaving you to your festival." Scotty was using his sweetest Scottish brogue, known to rival the captain's charm at times. He never found out if it had any effect, unfortunately, for Mr. Spock chose that moment to make his appearance. As if on cue the crowd grew deathly quiet and then, like a tide swelling, murmurings and whisperings picked up in volume, becoming a wave of shouts and frenzied yelling. The bantam quailed dramatically at the sight of the first officer, shielding his eyes as if Spock glowed with an intense light. People jammed together, pushing and shoving, wanting to get a better look but wary of approaching too closely.

"SILENCE!" A disembodied voice instantly quelled the noise. The crowd parted to allow a tall, dark personage to enter the center of the courtyard. The bantam fell into step behind the imposing figure, like some dwarfed shadow. Mr. Scott felt dangerously close to laughing at his melodramatic entrance. The whole scene was much like an old epoch film from the 20th century. All it lacked was the dubbing. He could hardly keep a straight face as the towering Ruler approached Spock and circled him twice, looking intently at the two most prominent Vulcan features. Spock stood patiently, as if he found it the most natural thing in the world to be put on display.

"Ruler Temaias, I presume?"

The Ruler sniffed and recoiled arrogantly as if offended by Spock's directness. "I am. And you are no doubt _Commander_ Spock. I have heard of the Vulcan race, naturally. Being in the Federation has inadvertently exposed us to the outworlds -- it is a necessary evil. However, seeing one up close has created quite a stir among my people. They are of the opinion that you are the Evil One himself." He stopped directly in front of Spock, locking gazes with the Vulcan.

"An opinion you, no doubt, could use to your good purpose, Temaias." Spock seemed to think the Ruler's nose an object of curiosity, worth studying.

_Temaias is relishing this, _thought Scotty. _Why doesn't Mr. Spock do something?_

The crowd continued to press in but the murmurings, which had begun again, suddenly ceased. The ensuing quiet was rather more ominous that the previous tumult. Mr. Scott was becoming uneasy again. Unobtrusively, he edged nearer the first officer, his fingers itching for the phaser hidden under his tunic. _Where's the cavalry when you need 'em?_

- - -

The afternoon walk through the rain forest was a different kind of journey for McCoy. He was a multidimensional man -- nurtured in red-dirt country of the Earth's deep south, a loner and a bit of a rebel -- paradoxically serving in Starfleet, spending the greater part of his time in space. Skeptical of progress, he was nevertheless expert in advanced medical technology. His background and experience had stood him in good stead through many experiences both planet-side and in deep space, and his own philosophy, thought buffeted and blasted occasionally, had been a constant in his life -- something he could draw on as the need arose.

However, as he and his small companion struggled through the wet undergrowth of the jungle, he was confronted with another paradox -- Alahn. This small and unassuming young woman with lightning in her eyes was so like his own daughter, Joanna: the way she could play his emotions like an instrument, the way she fostered fatherly feelings in him. He wanted to protect her, but he somehow felt she really didn't need his protection. There was a strength and resilience about her that mocked her small build. He wanted to know this Kadrahn better -- he couldn't keep quiet any longer, although he fully realized he may live to regret his decision.

"Alahn, forgive me, but why haven't you been talking my ear off about your religion? You haven't said anything unless I ask first."

She held a branch up for the doctor. "You keep forgetting, Leonard, that the tales you've heard are from Melas. No one from the Federation or Starfleet has ever visited any of the outlying areas of Kadrahn. Naturally, one's view of Kadrahn people would be based solely on what was experienced in the city."

"So the part about there being only one Creator and one's having to serve that Creator doesn't apply to everyone?"

Alahn hesitated, obviously weighing her words. "There are those who don't believe in the Creator, that is true. And there are some who worship other gods -- money, power, even mankind itself. But yes, there are those of us who do believe the Creator is One, and serve only Him."

McCoy stopped, stiffening. He didn't much like what he saw on Alahn's face. "You believe that, don't you?"

"I do. Does that offend you?"

He began walking again, setting a quicker pace. Alahn had to double-step to keep up with him. _Where had the sun gone?_ McCoy found himself suddenly locked up tighter than bay doors in deep space. He had begun to like this little creature and she had stabbed him in the back! He had thought her different from the Rulers - she had said she was - but…

Alahn was half-running to keep up with him, calling his name, but he only wanted to get away, to get this business over with, to get back to the ship and the sick… _The sick! Oh God, the sick! They're dying, and I'm stuck down here discussing philosophy with some kid… _ He felt pinpricks of moisture and he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, his dimmed vision causing him to stumble in the undergrowth. "Blast it!" he muttered.

Then he noticed Alahn wasn't calling after him anymore. He turned to find her gone and backtracked to find her a few yards on the trail behind him, sitting in the dirt with one shoe off, inspecting her ankle. Her face was wet with tears when she looked up and saw him standing there. A healer first and foremost, McCoy put aside his own feelings for the moment and knelt to examine the ankle.

"It's a minor sprain, Leonard. Or is it Dr. McCoy now? Don't worry - I can walk." She stood to demonstrate that fact.

The doctor stood alongside her, a myriad of emotions playing over his face. _So like Joanna_. "No, it's still Leonard. I just don't understand you very well -- you make me laugh one minute and mad enough to throttle you the next. You're an enigma, Alahn."

"You only think that because you are looking at me through the eyes of prejudice. No, let me finish," she added, as McCoy made move to speak. "I believe in the One, the Creator, who made everything and is over everything, and who is personal and real to me. Would you deny me the freedom to believe this way?"

"Well, no. The Federation has adopted the Vulcan creed: _Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations_. Rejoicing in our differences. But your faith doesn't allow for differences, Alahn. You either serve the guy or you're toast!" The wind began to kick up, whipping the trees and foliage as sprinkles of rain dropped from the darkening sky. They began to move through the forest again. Alahn was quiet and McCoy kept his own thoughts as the rain fell in earnest, wetting them both to the skin. Despite himself, McCoy couldn't let the subject drop. He wanted -- he didn't know _what_ he wanted! "Alahn, I don't mean to attack what you believe… "

"But you feel threatened by what I believe, Leonard. Do you also feel threatened by the code of logic the Vulcans follow? Do you feel they condemn you for your emotions - your humanity?"

The doctor smiled wryly. "There was a time I felt that way, yes, until I got to know a certain Vulcan a little better. I still don't understand everything about him, but I'm learning to appreciate who he is. Not that I'd ever tell _him_, you understand," he added quickly.

"And why not? Do you think he is incapable of understanding how you feel?"

"No. Maybe I'm afraid he _will_ understand."

"And then the relationship will change? I don't think you need to fear that, Leonard. Anyone worthy of your friendship will remain a true friend, and the relationship will only deepen with time." She touched his arm. "You don't need to be afraid of our friendship either, Leonard. It's made of sturdy stuff."

McCoy looked into those green eyes and gave in. He cleared his throat -- his eyes were misting again, but the rain hid the fact from Alahn. He was thankful for that -- despite his cure, McCoy's strength reserves were running low and his fatigue was telling on him.

"It's not far now. We'll make directly for the town square and see what, if anything, is going on with Starfleet. But before we go in I want to set something straight with you."

McCoy's uncomfortable feeling was back. "I don't know; I need to get back as soon as possible… "

"It'll only take a moment. Here, take my arm -- these paths are tricky when wet, and I know my way in the dark." He took her arm, grateful for human contact. He was shivering in his damp clothes, though the rain was slackening. "All I want you to do is think about this: if you can accept Mr. Spock for who he is, why can't you accept me for who I am?"

"Because your faith says I must believe in your God or die."

"And you see that as narrow-minded. Would you at least agree that your refusal to, say, murder a patient, could be viewed as narrow-minded? It all depends upon one's point of view. It is one thing to have a Ruler standing over you pronouncing judgement and waiting to throw stones at you -- it is an entirely different thing for someone to honestly believe he has something which would benefit you and desire you to have it, so much so that he would be committing a crime in his heart if he didn't at least make you aware of it. It's like someone finding a beautiful treasure -- enough for everyone -- and locking it up, keeping it only for himself. Do you begin to see how I feel about my beliefs? I don't judge you because you don't see what I see or feel what I feel, but I do want to tell you about it, simply because I care for you and couldn't stand for you not to have the opportunity to share it with me."

McCoy just shook his head. She had already shared so much: her time, her help and expertise… It suddenly dawned on him. _Her expertise!_ "Alahn, you're a doctor, aren't you?"

She grinned, her smile flashing in the last light of day. "Actually, no. Not officially, anyway. I've studied, catch as catch can, in the settlement, but I _am_ a healer."

"Of course! You're a natural, Alahn. Your gentleness, your touch has a something special about it. I remember your hands on my face before I woke up… So, you're a healer!" He grinned, bouncing on his toes. He felt strangely proud of this girl, and shook his head, chuckling. "You ever consider taking formal training?"

Alahn never answered him. She placed a finger on his lips and pulled aside a large frond, revealing the wall of a large, old city a short distance away. The night was a natural cover for them as they passed through the city gate without incident, undetected as they meandered in the general crowd. As they neared the central part of the city, the noise of a large gathering grew greater. They hastened as best they could in the thickening masses. Everyone seemed to be making for the square.

As McCoy and Alahn made their way through throngs of milling people and approached the inner circle, they could distinguish the angry jibes of one, the hysterical curses of another, all seemingly aimed at someone in the very center. Finally, with a last effort, they broke through. The sight that met their eyes was worth three trips through the jungle, thought McCoy.

There, bathed in floodlights reflected off the wet flagstones, was the shuttlecraft. There also was Scotty, kneeling over a little man who lay unconscious. And there was Spock, holding his phaser with deadly aim at a tall, saturnine character.

"It's Temaias himself!" whispered Alahn, amazement in her voice.

Along the edge of the crowd were several other people, seemingly dazed or stunned. _How long has Spock been holding them off?_ McCoy wondered. He grabbed Alahn by the hand and ran to Spock before anyone in the crowd could grab them.

"Spock!"

"Dr. McCoy, I am gratified to see you. We must make departure immediately. The crowd is behaving most illogically."

"Most lynching mobs do, Spock. Let's get out of here! Will the force field stop us?"

"Nay, Doctor," answered the Scotsman, leaving the fallen sub-Ruler who had been felled by a Vulcan nerve-pinch. Apparently Vulcans had their limits. "They'll not bother with us once we've left the planet."

"That is likely, Mr. Scott; however, I surmise from the tone of the crowd that if they reach us before our departure we will be in great jeopardy. We will board the Galileo _now_."

McCoy knew that tone. Wordlessly he guided Alahn to the shuttle. Scotty guarded Spock's back as he escorted Temaias, somewhat physically, into the vehicle. As Scotty turned to board the shuttle the crowd rushed in with a roar. For a few wild moments it felt as if they would physically upend the craft, but she soon lifted under her own power and made her way, unhindered, back to the _Enterprise._

- - -

M'Benga was startled awake by the intercom in McCoy's office, his temporary sleeping quarters in the CMO's absence - if you could call dozing in a chair sleeping. "M'Benga here."

"Sir," Uhura said excitedly, "it's Dr. McCoy. Her face faded and McCoy's voice came across loud and clear.

"M'Benga! It's me. Status, please."

"Eighty-seven stricken, twenty-six in coma." He hesitated. "We won't speak of the dead right now."

_Won't speak of the dead._ McCoy could not bring himself to ask the question. "I have an assistant who is willing to help us administer the cordicillium. Can you be ready when we come on board?"

"I'll wake up the whole ship if necessary!" M'Benga was waking up fast.

"I think the medical staff will do," McCoy answered. M'Benga could detect McCoy's smile in the statement.

Sickbay leapt into action.

- - -

"I don't understand, Doctor. He should be responding by now." Fear was in Christine's voice. The cordicillium had been highly effective in most of the comatose patients. Sadly, two had died, having deteriorated too far to bring back. Seventeen were showing improved vital signs and were now in a deep, healing sleep. Six had actually awakened and their conditions happily downgraded; all the other less serious cases were responding well, as expected.

Only one patient remained comatose, unresponsive, life signs thready and weakening. The little group that now gathered around the biobed had the look of a wake. _It's the wake before the death,_ thought McCoy morbidly. The doctor was exhausted, having overseen the administration of the antibiotic, the synthesization of more of the medicine, and the close monitoring of all comatose patients. He didn't even want to think about how long it had been since he slept. They had come so close! Jim had been given the cordicillium immediately upon the CMO's return, but he was slipping away. McCoy felt the last vestiges of his control deteriorate as he watched his friend get worse before his eyes, and he felt the tears well up. _Not Jim, God! Not Jim!_

"We're losing him," said M'Benga, barely controlling his deep baritone. Christine, who had been standing back, moved to the side of the bed and took the captain's hand in her own once again. The nails were blue, the fingers cold. Instinctively, they all moved in, as if to protect their friend from impending death. McCoy, desperate, looked at Spock.

"Spock, there are healers in your family. You are closer to Jim than anyone. Can you try to reach him?"

Spock's face was a study of pain and sorrow. Fatigue and despair had taken their toll on the man, and he could no longer make the effort to control as he normally would. He paused for a moment, hands clasped, then formed the mindmeld with his friend. "Captain… Jim… Can you hear me?"

"Tired," Spock said, but not Spock.

"Jim, the medicine in your body is killing the disease. It is no longer draining your strength. You must fight to come back."

"Too late… So tired… "

Alahn stood next to Christine, having learned about Captain Kirk from her and the other people who stood in this room now. This man was greatly esteemed, even loved, and was a fighter - that she knew. But she had seen this before, where the fight was so hard and so intense that, just when the battle had been won, the soldier gave out.

"He's fibrillating," said an aide. McCoy administered cordrazine - the bio indicators continued on their crazy course. "Dammit!" McCoy cursed, and activated a defribillator - once, twice, three times.

There was no conversion.

"Spock, _do_ something!" he yelled.

But Spock was incapable of doing anything, lost in the depths of Jim's subconscious, which was slowly fading…

Quietly, unnoticed by the others, Alahn moved to the head of the bed and placed her hand on the captain's forehead, taking care not to touch Spock. The Vulcan drew a sharp breath and opened his eyes, fastening them on Alahn. He did not break the mindmeld but continued to watch Alahn for a moment before closing his own eyes again. McCoy looked on helplessly as the three: Alahn, Spock, and Christine, ministered to Kirk - spirit, soul and body.

Almost imperceptibly, the heart flutter slowed and evened out. Gradually the heart rate strengthened. Respiration deepened and vital signs steadily improved. Still the three gave of themselves to the man who needed them, far into the night.

- - -

"Well, Doctor, I guess this is where we say goodbye," said Alahn in the transporter room.

"For awhile. Don't forget this is my favorite landfall, San Francisco."

"I won't. And I'm looking forward to meeting Joanna someday. Don't _you_ forget your promise to take me to see her on that big ship of yours."

"I've already sent a subspace message to her, all about you. I think you'll have a lot in common, Alahn."

"We already do." She looked meaningfully at McCoy and he found himself blushing. He was actually relieved when Spock entered the room.

"Alahn, I thought you would want to know that the Federation is taking up the affair of persecution and other charges on Kadrahn with the Rulers of Melas. We have every reason to believe that, with Temaias in custody and you as a witness to the atrocities committed against your people, circumstances will change drastically, and for the better, on your home planet."

"I am very happy to hear that, Mr. Spock. To see justice carried out and the deliverance of my people will be the answer to generations of hopes and prayers." Alahn's eyes, the windows of her emotions, now showed concern. "How is the captain, Mr. Spock? I am sorry I was unable to see him."

"He is still asleep, Alahn, although Dr. M'Benga thinks he will awaken soon. He will regret not having met you."

"As I do. However, I have booked passage on a future flight and will meet him then." She winked at McCoy, who grinned at Spock's immediate curiosity.

"Indeed? I shall look forward to seeing you again." Spock gave her the Vulcan salute. "Peace and long life, Alahn." She immediately returned it, surprising McCoy.

"Live long and prosper, Spock." Turning to McCoy, she gave him a long, hard hug, burying her face in his shirt, then stepped onto the transporter. Without another word, she faded from his sight, the flash of her green eyes mingling with the sparkles of disintegration.

The intercom broke into McCoy's thoughts and apparently Spock's, too, since they both left the floor by a fraction of a millimeter.

"Dr. McCoy, this is sickbay. The captain is awake."

"On my way." Vulcan and Terran moved out with as much dispatch as they could, bar running.

- - -

"Hello, Spock - Bones."

"Don't talk, and that's a medical order, Jim."

_How can a man talk so gruffly and look so happy? _wondered Spock. He would never understand the human mind.

"You look better, Captain. I am glad your recovery is proceeding well."

Kirk smiled. It was weak, but it was his old smile - lopsided, as usual.

"Bones, what's been going on? You were sick, too… "

"I told you to shut up!" Kirk's eyebrows went up. McCoy grinned. "Sir." He patted Kirk's shoulder placatingly, and the captain's surprise turned into a frown. "I'll tell you all about it soon enough."

"_All_ about it, Doctor?" Spock asked, crossing his arms.

"Well, my part of the story, anyway. Seems like everyone will have a tale to tell, even some people you haven't met."

"Namely one Temaias, Ruler of Melas." Kirk's frown deepened further into a scowl before Spock added: "Who is in the brig at Starbase I, Captain."

"I _have _ been out of it," Kirk began, stopped by McCoy's warning look, and decided then and there he was going to get even with the good doctor just as soon as he was sprung from this place.

"There was another person, Jim, also from Kadrahn. No, no, she wasn't like that! You'd like her, Jim. I'd bet she'd remind you of someone you know."

Spock nodded affirmation. "She helped with the patients and will make a fine physician someday. She's a true healer, Jim."

"You sensed that, then?" McCoy asked. "I saw you look at her when she laid her hand on Jim - the same way she did me when I was unconscious."

"Her hand was cool… gentle," Kirk remembered.

"Yes, Captain. I felt it, too, in the mindmeld."

"Was her touch like a mindmeld, Spock? What did you sense?"

The first officer studied the floor before answering the doctor. "It was not a mindmeld at all. It did not come from Alahn, but rather as if she were a conduit for a pure, healing power - surpassing anything I have ever experienced, even on Vulcan."

"I remember… I wanted to come back, but I was too tired. Then I was helped back… " Kirk's eyelids drooped.

"Enough now. Get some rest, Jim. We're in drydock for a few days so you have no pressing duties we can't handle for you. Rest is the best medicine now."

Kirk stopped fighting it and closed his eyes. Almost immediately his soft snoring attested to the fact that he was, for once, taking his physician's advice.

- - -

McCoy sat alone in his office, bone-tired but unable to sleep. He was reliving his experiences on that jungle planet and with the unique person who had become his friend. They had had several opportunities since returning to the _Enterprise_ to discuss IDIC and explore fully the tenets of her faith. Alahn had challenged him, proposing that it was prejudicial to assume that worshippers of the Creator were automatically of a condemning nature. Granted, the Kadrahn Rulers set a horrible example, but the situation on the planet, now exposed, demonstrated how false ideas can be engendered. He would never forget their final private conversation, minutes before she beamed down.

"Leonard, the Rulers were just that - ruling - by force, cruelty, deception, unreasonable laws - that is true slavery. The irony of it is they don't know that they are slaves, too. But to really serve the Creator is an act of free will, not bondage - an act of love, not captivity - much like you serve your beloved captain. We are free to make the choice, all of us. We are _all_ free… "

- - -

Later that evening, in the ship's false night, Christine slipped into Kirk's room and watched him sleep for awhile, checking his still improving vital signs and adjusting the covers of his bed. She turned to go, satisfied he was situated for the night.

"Christine." She turned back, alarmed that she had awakened him.

"Captain, I'm sorry I disturbed you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I know. Would you sit with me a minute? I want to talk to you." Chapel pulled a chair close and sat in it, a little uncomfortable. She and Kirk had always kept a certain formal distance, though she'd always thought of him as her friend. "I want to thank you for all your work in fighting this epidemic, Christine. Everyone did more than their share, but I know you. You do more and then some."

"Oh, it's what anyone else would do," she said, her natural modesty trying to make light of what Kirk was saying.

"No, it's not." Kirk took her hand between both of his and held it there - not a lover's caress, but a friend's embrace - cradling her cold fingers in his own. "I knew what was happening most of the time when I was in the coma. I couldn't move or speak, but I was _aware_." His grip tightened on her fingers. "I remember." He squeezed her hand again and smiled his gratefulness to her. Christine squeezed back, relaxing at last, and stayed with the captain until he slept.

- - -

_**Epilogue**_

The ship was quiet, running lights off, engines stilled in drydock. Crewmembers slept - those few who remained awake maintained vigil over the recovering. Her corridors were silent and dim - quiet prevailed on every deck. She waited, like a benighted swan in the still waters of space dock, for those who commanded her to sail out once again into the outreaches of space. For she was built to soar, to wind an ever-lengthening journey into the unknown - for that is the destiny of a starship, and the destiny of those aboard her.


End file.
